by Serena Bell
She’d catch herself and try to put it all back in the attic storage, and it would slumber there for a few minutes and then it would come out again, like a jack-in-the-box that wouldn’t stay put.
It wouldn’t last forever, though. He would be gone soon and she would get her amazing, executive-level Buyathon job and move to Seattle and meet a great guy, someone whose ambitions matched hers, and they would live happily ever after. Screw Jax, because she really, truly, did not give a crap about him anymore.
The bell tinkled, the door opened, and shit.
“Hey,” he said. And unfortunately, in real life, he beat the hell out of her memories last night. He was broader and better-built than he’d been in high school, his shoulders and biceps straining his black t-shirt. His sandy hair was rumpled, probably because he’d been running his hands through it.
She wished she didn’t know that.
She really, really wanted not to be attracted to him anymore. And she was really, really out of luck.
“Hey,” she finally managed. Please say, I’m just stopping by to say goodbye before I head out of town.
“I just visited Evan.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s okay. We talked about the shop.”
His hands were bigger than they’d been in high school. Everything about him was bigger, including his presence. He’d seemed so masculine to her then, but he’d been just a boy compared to now. The stubble clinging to his strong jaw. The appealing roughness of his skin. The way he filled the room.
“I told him I’d fix it up while he was in the hospital.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m going to fix up the store. He’s going to be in the hospital a couple more days, right? So I’ll stick around and clean up this place. Deal with the paint, the carpet, all that.”
Her insides locked up. That meant he wasn’t leaving—he was staying. For at least as long as “while he was in the hospital” lasted. And that he’d be here. In the shop.
She must have been staring at him dumbly, because he gave a short, not-very-amused laugh and said, “Yeah. I know. I’m sure it wasn’t your plan to spend quality time with me. If you want, you could leave. I can watch the store. I know you can’t be super happy to see me, and I get it, believe me, I get it—”
“If you got it,” she said shortly, “you wouldn’t have left in the first place without telling me you were moving, or why, or where you were going, or where I could find you.”
Damn it, she hadn’t meant to say that. To admit how abandoned she’d felt. She hadn’t wanted him to know she had ever given a shit about his leaving, let alone that she still did.
Well, too late for that. Now he knew. Now they both knew she still cared.
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m over it, okay? But that doesn’t mean we can be friends.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I’m just setting boundaries,” she said, drawing walls around herself as she said it.
“I see them,” he said. He sounded a little bit amused, which pissed her off even more. He didn’t get to be amused by any of this.
“And one of those boundaries is that I don’t want you in the shop while I’m in the shop.”
He squinted. “Technically, it’s Evan’s shop. And Evan wants me in the shop. Actually, if you want to get super technical, I think that since Evan used my money to rent the shop and buy the inventory, it’s my shop. And I want me in the shop. So if you don’t like that, you could get out of the shop.”
Screw him! He hadn’t wanted to be honest in the past, and now he was going to bully her in the present? Uh-uh. No way. A strong stubborn streak ran in the Campbell veins, and Chiara could feel it settling in for the long haul. “Evan asked me to take care of the shop. I’m not walking away from that. I’m the one who’s seen the books, who knows the financials and who knows what they mean. And I’m the one who knows comics and games. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then I guess we’re both going to be in the shop,” Jax said with a shrug.
“Not at the same time,” Chiara said. “You can’t be ‘fixing stuff up’”—she made air quotes—“while the shop’s open.”
“Because I might drive customers away?” he asked darkly.
They both looked toward the door.
“There are customers,” she said.
“How about I promise no messy projects during business hours, and if customers come in and I’m doing something that makes noise, I’ll take a break. I just don’t have forever to get this done. I’ve got to get back and start my next project.”
She knew from Evan he was a general contractor, a good one with a great reputation. That didn’t surprise her. He’d been a hard worker, strong as an ox. Always on time. Super organized. He’d had to be, to work the hours he’d put in at Cape House, make sure his brother stayed on track with schoolwork, clean up after his mother when she was on a bender, and still, somehow, manage to more or less pass his classes.
Sometimes less. He’d had a few teachers cut him extra slack, she knew. And in the end—had he ever actually graduated from high school?
She wasn’t going to ask.
She sighed. She’d wished for someone handy to remake the shop; now she had someone. Unfortunately, he was not the someone she would have chosen. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Okay. No messy projects during business hours—no sawdust, sanding, finishing, nothing that’s going to irritate customers. Keep your work self-contained and tidy. And yeah, no noise when there are people in the shop.”
“My shop,” he reminded her.
“Evan’s shop,” she countered. “And I’m minding it.”
“What’s that sound?” he asked, glancing around the shop.
It took her a second to register that he’d changed the subject. “What sound?” And then, “Oh, shit.”
It was the sound of her phone vibrating in her purse. She plucked it out and said, “Damn, I’m late for my Chamber of Commerce meeting.”
He tilted his head, considering her. “You the treasurer?”
“Yeah, so?”
“What else are you the treasurer of?”
The answer was effectively everything. Every association she was on the board of, all the companies whose books she was doing. But she knew better than to tell him that. Instead, she rolled her eyes at him. “Come on. I need you out of here so I can lock up.”
“I can lock up,” he said.
“I have the key.”
“We’ll need a copy,” he pointed out. “Leave me with the key, I’ll make a copy.”
She hesitated.
“What do you think I’m going to do, leave town with it?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You do have a history.”
There was utter silence between them.
“I deserved that,” he said with a sigh. “Look. Shop’s closed tomorrow, right? I’m planning to be here working tonight and all day tomorrow. So I’ll make a copy of the key first thing and you can grab it from me anytime you want.”
“You’ll be here the whole day?”
“I might make a few trips for materials, but you can text me first, make sure I’m here.”
She squinted at that. “That would require you to unblock me.”
His gaze skittered away from hers, and she thought she saw his jaw tighten. “I have a new number. Here. Give me your phone.”
She handed it over. He tapped in his name and number and handed it back.
She sent him a text. She started to type Kee’s number, but that was way too intimate. Chiara’s number, she typed instead. It felt strange. For almost two years after he’d left, she would have given anything to be able to exchange texts with him. But now? He was just a good-looking stranger. Because the boy she’d thought she knew wouldn’t have left the way he left. Which meant that she’d never really known him at all.
“Make sure you buy local,” she told him. “No big box stores for materials. The
re’s a great local hardware shop and a great local lumberyard.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and she rolled her eyes again.
“Don’t make a mess. And make sure the shop is neat by Wednesday at ten.”
He saluted her, and she turned and left before she could think too much or too hard about what she’d just agreed to.
6
“What are you doing?”
He hadn’t heard her come in, but there she was, standing in the shop staring at the progress he’d made. He’d texted her a little while ago to say he’d be in the shop for the next few hours if she wanted to come get the key.
She was so fucking pretty. Black hair and fair skin and those blue eyes, which were the exact color of cobalt glass. All five Campbell siblings had those eyes, and Chiara was no exception, except that her eyes were different. Deep set, fringed with long lashes, and as warm as the color was cool.
Well. Not now. Right now, she was glaring at him.
“I’m painting.”
Specifically, he was putting a coat of primer on the bookcases, which were a total eyesore.
“Yeah, I can see that. And you tore out the carpet.”
“Yeah. I’ve got the new stuff in my truck. And clean padding that’s not riddled with mildew. Sorry. I think I might have created a bit of a toxic waste situation over there—” he pointed to where the old padding was heaped up.
“But—” She seemed to be struggling. “Okay. I don’t know how to say this.”
“Just say it.” He had zero patience with bullshit.
“I mean—I am grateful. I really am. And it’s—obviously, paint, carpet, that’s all going to help. For sure. But—that’s not going to do it. I thought—” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I don’t know why I thought we were on the same page. You said ‘fix it up,’ I thought you meant the same thing I meant. Which is totally unfair. You can’t read minds, and I should have clarified.”
“What did you mean?”
“Not this. This is like, I don’t know, a bandaid on a bullet wound. This place—if it’s going survive—it’s got to be all different. A bookstore isn’t a game store. It’s different. Comic books go on racks, not shelves. And games, they need shelves that are deep enough to hold the whole box and tall enough to use for display. There has to be a library for demo games, and people have to be able to play at tables.”
“So, like, a complete renovation. Tearing out the shelves, building new ones— You know how much work that is, right?”
“All I know is, we have to do something. Something big. He has to be on track by Labor Day weekend. That’s what I worked out,” she said.
“What do you mean, that’s what you worked out?”
“I mean, I looked at the books, and if the shop’s going to survive, he has to be going strong by Labor Day weekend at the absolute latest. You know Tierney Bay.”
He did and he didn’t. He’d lived here just under two years, one of the many places he and his mom and, later, Evan, had drifted through. He shrugged.
“It’s a tourist town. Retail is all seasonal,” she said. “You sell all summer and into the fall. Maybe till Christmas if you’re lucky, if you’ve got stuff people want. And then it’s January, and nothing. Nothing till March at least, and that’s in a good year. If Evan is going to survive his first year, he has to be ramped up no later than Labor Day.”
She bit her lip again. He had a sudden, visceral memory of that lower lip. It was soft and plump and when Jax’s tongue had first flicked over it, she had whimpered and he had felt it in every nerve ending.
It sucked that he couldn’t always remember his computer passwords but he still remembered that. For all the fucking good it would ever do him.
“And you think that means tearing this place down to the walls and floor.”
“I know that’s what it means,” she said.
He took a deep breath, tried to pull together his emotions. “You want a complete renovation, but you don’t want me to make a mess. You don’t want me to dirty up your pretty little shop during business hours. You don’t want me making noise or dust. And you don’t want me in your space. How the hell am I supposed to do that and get back to Bakersfield to start my next project inside of two weeks?”
That shut her up. She looked around the space, frowning at the carpet padding. He couldn’t blame her. He had a strong stomach and that stuff was vile.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. Her chin dipped, which made his stomach hurt. He hadn’t meant to be a dick about it. It was a real question, though. There wasn’t enough time, and there sure as hell wasn’t any way to do what she was talking about without interfering with the shop’s open hours.
Something buzzed; she dug in her purse and pulled out her phone. “Oh, whoops,” she said. “I’m supposed to be at Beans by the Beach in five minutes.”
“Late to another meeting?” he asked. She’d been the queen of it in high school. On every committee, a member of what seemed to him—the ultimate non-joiner—like, every club. National Honor Society and Yearbook Committee and Environmental Justice—ticking boxes like crazy to get herself into college. He’d been proud of her, but also jealous of all the things that ate her time, when time was the thing he had the least of. It made him crazy when he had an hour off and she couldn’t get free. A chance to sneak away, to be alone together, lost.
She gave him a guilty look that told him the answer had to be yes.
“What is it this time? Tierney Bay Rotary Club?”
“Reunion committee.”
That gave him a nasty jolt. He’d forgotten their ten-year was this summer. Was he going to be in town during it? He sure as fuck hoped not. “When is the reunion?” he asked, trying to hide his dread.
“September,” she said.
No, he’d be long gone by then. Thank God. “What are you doing for the reunion committee?”
She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. “Helping with planning.”
“And keeping track of the money.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Still doing everyone else’s math homework, huh?” That’s what he’d called it in high school, when she’d been the treasurer of everything. She’d had it in her head that math was her thing, and she’d gone after it with her whole self, which was the way she did everything.
Everything.
He closed his eyes, trying to get the images out of his head.
“Well.” She shrugged. “It’s what I’m good at.”
“You were good at lots of things.”
He’d been thinking of her art, hadn’t meant it to come out suggestive—but it did, dripping with innuendo. She cast him a look he couldn’t read, then tucked her phone away.
“Look.” Her voice softened. “I get it. You don’t live here. Bottom line, this shop isn’t your problem. If you can’t do it, I can help Evan find someone who can.”
“And pay them with what? Monopoly money?”
Her face flushed, and he instantly regretted being so flip.
“You know what?” She crossed her arms. “Go ahead. Be snarky about it. But this isn’t about me. None of this is about me. It’s about Evan.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Where’s my key?”
He handed it to her.
“Make sure that shit is out of here by tomorrow morning at 10,” she said, gesturing at the pile of padding.
When she was gone, he rested his head in his hands.
She was right. This was about Evan.
But she was also wrong. Because, yeah, he wanted to help Evan. But he also wanted to make things right between him and Chiara. He could never tell her everything, but he could try to repay a fraction of the emotional debt he owed her, work off some of the guilt he carried.
Doing what she was asking would take longer than a few days. Much longer than he’d planned. And it wouldn’t work the way she’d pictured. There was no way they could arrange never to be in the store at the same time. It would be disruptive. He would be in
her space.
But if it meant he could make things right for Evan and make things up to her?
He’d be willing to try.
7
“Okay, so let’s just go over the list of people who haven’t RSVP’d. I’m pretty sure I’ve dropped a text message here and there, and maybe this’ll jog our memories.” Chiara’s friend Willa Beecham, tall and slim with warm brown skin and hair in twists, pushed her reunion folder aside and drew a single sheet towards her. “Julian Kincaid.” Willa eyed Chiara and their reunion-planning buddy, Vannah Ewing, a pale-as-milk redhead sporting a messy bun. “No? Nothing from Julian? Gabriela Jimenez? I think she’s on the East Coast now. Most of our East Coast classmates can’t swing it. Lauren Spinak. Oh, shit, Lauren told me she’s coming. Not sure how I lost that one. Stupid texts. Donelle Robinson.”
“He’s in Atlanta. He’s a hotshot lawyer, in the middle of a big case. He can’t make it,” Chiara said.
Willa marked her sheet. “Erik Kim?”
“Erik’s in L.A. No response from him yet. Last I heard he had landed a lead in a feature film, so maybe he’s filming,” Vannah said.
“Jax Walker. Huh,” Willa said. “I didn’t even realize he’d graduated. Or did he? I figured he dropped out. Or got his GED or graduated somewhere else. But I guess he somehow managed to finish up and wrangle a degree from Tierney Bay High School.”
That answered that question.
“Do you know if he’s planning on coming?” Willa asked.
A day ago, Chiara could have truthfully said she hadn’t heard from him in ten years, but now she was stuck with just shaking her head no. Should she tell them he was in town? There were some excellent reasons not to. For one, he’d be pissed if she sicced the reunion committee on him. And for another, she knew there’d be loads of follow-up questions. She and Willa and Vannah hadn’t run in the same circles in high school, but it was a small enough school that when someone got stood up for prom, everyone knew. The three women had gotten pretty chummy while working on reunion planning, but that didn’t mean the subject of her getting dumped had ever come up. And while she wouldn’t mind talking about Jax with them, it just felt too weird and raw right now.